I Was His First
by Poseida Lunar
Summary: Everybody thinks about their first, but there are lies... Yes, there are lies. HPDM Slash, flangst.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you might recognize from the Harry Potter-verse. All belongs to the great JK Rowling. Don't sue; have sympathy, I'm broke enough. :P

**Warning: **HPDM Slash, along with oh... about five other Harry/SomeoneElseBesidesDraco pairing. Non-graphic sexual explicit, but they are there none the less. Mention of drugs. Angst, and very, very corny. This is not beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. You've been warned.

* * *

I was his first.

Hello, my name is Ginny Weasley. You don't need to know much about me, as I don't know much about myself either- well, not anymore; all I know is that I was once Harry Potter's girlfriend. My hair seems to have wither from my rich, crimson red to gray. I don't understand how. Maybe depression makes you age too quickly, maybe I am getting old too fast. Maybe that's why he broke up with me. I barely look at the mirror nowadays. I don't think about anything much, all I remember and want to remember was me and Harry.

We had a good time together; I love him and he loved me back. One might wonder why "I love him" wasn't in the past tense, but that's because I still love him. My chest aches every time I think about him.

He was my first as I was his.

I remember that night very clearly despite not being able to recall anything else. It was August 1st, 1998 when we did it. The day right after his eighteenth birthday. We were together then, and because it was his birthday and I was his girlfriend, I saved my virginity for that special day as a present; we were only back together and officially dating for three weeks, by the way. He didn't want it, he said, and left the party early, face lined with worries and eyes glistened with tears. I asked him what was wrong at the doorway, but he won't say.

So I left him to leave, and the next evening, he came back to me, asking whether his birthday present was still valid or not. I, of course, gave him his wish. It was my dream to see him as he is ever since I discovered my feelings for him. I love him, though I'm not sure yet even now if he had returned that feeling back truly.

I didn't care, still don't. It was on August 1st, 1998 when we made love, when he whispered into my ear "I love you, my first."

He may loved me or not, but those words I cherish forever. I still love him, and I'm glad I was his first. Only wish he'd come back to me, but he wouldn't answer, wouldn't answer....

* * *

I was his first.

I, Hermione Granger, confess with shame but shameless with my words. I know, that doesn't make sense does it? Oxymoron isn't suppose to make sense, or maybe I'm just blabbing nonsense that doesn't even count as oxymoron. Oh well, who really cares? My husband is Ron Weasley, a lovely man with energy and life like an candle; he's romantic, smooth and simple, lighting up my dull life in every way possible. I love him, and we are married.

But thinking back to my life, I'm still not ashamed that Harry was my first. I can distinct that morning from others very well, the morning after the night Ron left us during the seventh year after that big fight. I needed comfort, Harry needed warm, and one thing led to another. His body danced like fire above mine, his kisses consumed me like fire as we swayed back and forth together. I didn't mind being with him, and Ron never knew. And his words, oh his words.... "I love you, my first."

We later apologized to each other, joking about stuff like "friends with benefits", but I wasn't sorry. I don't know about Harry, but I wasn't. Still isn't.

In a way, he have me like Ron never can. In a way, I feel deeper for him than friend-like and sibling-like. In a way, I too, have a part of him. I was his first, as he was mine.

I'll say that without shame.

* * *

I was his first.

Some potions are like human drugs: marijuana, cocaine, meth. Or I was told those are the names. Some humans are like potions, addicting, compelling and completely overwhelming. Not to mention forbidden. Yes, that's what made some potions and drugs illegal. It takes time to get over a certain person. It takes time for potions to wear off. It takes time for a drug addict to free from his drug. They should make said humans illegal too, but that would just make him even more forbidden.

I, Severus Snape, are still freeing myself from my drug.

It's a hard thing to do. I think about him every day and night. Technically, what we've done was considered illegal under the ruling of Voldemort. I know I can't. I know the consequences, and still I gave in that dark afternoon on January 30th, 1997 by the snow bank.

January 30th. Lily's birthday.

Maybe I was imagining Harry as Lily, maybe not. I forgot who I saw in those bright green eyes: the student I loathed for seven years, or the woman I've loved even into her death. I do not understand. Perhaps I don't need to. I don't care. I can still remember the way he looked at me, the face, so full of sadness as he pulled out of me, sobbing quietly on my chest.

We laid there side by side for a while, not talking. I was concerned but I did not ask, he did not tell me.

Then at the end, his words... "I love you, my first."

I must admit, I was caught by surprise- "I love you"? I guess I chuckled, because he got up and left, and began to cry again. When I looked back up, I thought I saw guilt, shame, regret. All of which I'm feeling right now.

Deep inside, beneath all those stirring emotions, I'm glad I was his first. Maybe tomorrow I will stop thinking about him.

* * *

I was his first.

As a matter of fact, I was his first real girlfriend.

Hi, my name is Cho Chang, a former student of the Ravenclaw house and now the Head Auror of my department. I'm well into the dating slash romancing era of my life now, and the men of the society really provide me chances. I've met good men, I've met jerks. But falling in love? No, not really. My post-Hogwarts' top dating record was six dates and two fucks set by a rather sophisticated Romanian Pureblood.

But I don't think I've loved anyone besides Cedric. I don't even feel for Harry, even though he was my first.

I never regret that though. He was nice, a gentleman, a polite and romantic lover. I remember when we did it in the Room of Requirement that night when he was found by Neville. Strange, you'd think we would do it during our relationship's time, assuming we would even go that far in our young age. Instead, we found ourselves stuck in a crazy position that night while everybody had gone to sleep. I bumped into him in the dark as he me.

We talked in whispers, giggling. Then his mouth covered mine.

Three years later after we broke up, we did it on the floor only three feet away from our friends in the middle of the night. I guess we were just both too depressed; I remember the subject going to Cedric during the talk at some point. And to make things even more weird, we both cried at the end. I broke down in tears right after it was over; guilty in Cedric's name, I think. He's died, why did I cry anyway?

"I love you, my first," was what Harry said before he cried. I'm guessing he wasn't sincere either. We decided to call everything normal the next day.

I still think about it some times.

* * *

I was his first.

I was his first for everything, in fact. I was his first friend and buddy, the first person to accept him in Hogwarts. His first chess mate, the first person who shared homeworks and notes with him. I introduced him to Quidditch, I showed him pictures of the Chudley Canon team members. Basically, I was the first in his life for almost everything.

'Mione never knew. Ginny never knew- I'm glad she doesn't. Her own brother slept with her ex-boyfriend? She would hex me so bad that I wouldn't be able to walk. It was a long time ago, nothing special, except I became his first in a totally different sense that day after the sixth year when he spent the week of the summer at my house before leaving for his no-good bastards of relatives.

Now, I don't consider myself gay or even bisexual. I don't know if Harry was gay then either. Perhaps we were just experimenting, trying to see sex in the "gay" light, I suppose. We spent all that time drooling over naked women and we never felt or saw another man naked. Call it curiosity, but we did it for the fun... Or the pleasure, but I was mostly in it for the fun. We joked as we moved; our position was very awkward and it hurt a lot; I wanted to top, but he won't let me. (Oh, yes, we put a lot of Silence Charms around the bed. Can't be caught)

Then being the romanticist he is, he said to me at the end, "I love you, my first." I'm not sure if he was mocking me or not.

Afterwards, we laughed our heads off and made fun of homosexuals some more.

I really think Harry became gay, but he didn't show it; besides he started dating Ginny, so what gives?

He's a good lover, none the less. I only did it to be his first though, not a bad first either.

He went to the bathroom right after that. Mother later told me he came out with red eyes, she sounded concerned. It must've hurt for him as well. I don't know why though.

* * *

I was his first.

No, this time it's for real. Really, I was his first. No lie, because I know he loves me even through thick and thin. I know. I felt it everyday in our lives. I can always see the tenderness and passion behind that cold stone-grey eyes as we fought in the Great Hall, the corridors and in front of our friends for the pure show.

It first happened during that incident, the day right after he made those "POTTER STINKS" badges. I was really mad then. One, because I know I don't stink- a ridiculous reason, I know. Two, simply because I hated him to gut and wasn't willing to pass up such a good excuse to pick a fight. Both ridiculous, both unwise, Hermione later told me. I don't care.

I never expected him waiting for me in the Slytherin Common Room; the door had been left wide open too, silly me that I didn't take note of that. When I saw him there, I, of course, expected his gang to be hiding some where in the room, waiting to ambush me on the signal. It never happened. I became more relaxed, I answered questions. I ranted about the tournament. And soon, he motioned me to get up and pick up my Invisibility Cloak, then we were in the Room of Requirements.

I laid down on the available couch there, still having hints of suspicion in my mind. Everything I did, I did without thinking, was what I told myself when he shut the door close and turned around. After all, it was almost three in the morning. It wasn't a great situation to be in; your school rival, wide and awake. You, tired and sleepy.

So I suspected, worried, and he kissed it all away.

He undid my clothings, nibbling my ears, two hands running all over me like snakes- like warm, caring snakes. Completely relaxing. He gently prepared me, then slowly entered me. He provided us a rhythm, gave me a sun to bath under and two seas to gaze into as our body moved frantically, hips grinding against each other.

"I love you, my first," had been his only words to me before I drowned.

Confusion settled in the morning when I woke up in a strange room with my arch enemy hugging me tightly in a bed, both of us naked. I fled, screaming.

It took over a month of rumoring around the school, snatching me away after class, and many forced kisses for me to be persuaded.

Is it unhealthy for me to say that he was my world from then?

Maybe it is.

We were together, always in secrets though. I later took up Cho and Ginny, he took up Pansy Parkinson for a cover. War came, and it changed everything. He wasn't there, he can't even be there with me in secret. I can't talk to him, I can't see him. I can imagine him, but imagination wasn't enough. Hermione and Ron even began to question why I always had red eyes, then Hermione suggested therapy at St. Mungo. We never got to that though, because I returned to the Dursleys soon after the idea.

I missed him for an entire year, saw him trice during the final battle, and he was gone again for the trial, which they had all Death-Eaters imprisoned in a new temporary cell until they get through everyone. I just wanted to reveal everything, maybe the world would be convinced because I am the Man-Who-Lived-Twice. Maybe he could be saved. I kept hoping.

And the guilt, the shame, the remorse. So many sinful moments on my behalf as each one of Draco's replacement flashed through my mind. The schedule was pretty consistent: think about Draco, think about getting away from Draco, go out, fuck, then cry and think some more. Draco has been gone from my life for three years total, too much messing around, too many false statements. I sold his dearest words to strangers, whoring them out as I whored myself. I want to die. I'm sorry, really am.

Do you think he'd be able to forgive me?

Yes? No?

Because he's here right now, on my front porch.

"Hi." My eyes sting with tears at the sight of him as he smiled at me after so many years. Those eyes still bright as ever.

He was my first. My last.

"Hi Draco."


End file.
